Sunglasses
by Wei Jiangling
Summary: Pre-AC. As Rufus' life is falling apart, sometimes support comes from unlikely sources. Read as friendship or romance, whatever floats your boat.


Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy 7, nor its characters, places, or concepts.

Written for the prompt: Rude/Rufus, hurt/comfort, "Show me I can still feel something besides pain and loneliness."

Sunglasses

Steam rose in wispy ringlets from the mug, the scent of coffee mixing with the breeze and the sweet note of a bird chirping. A leaf loosed itself from a nearby tree, and wafted downward until it settled lightly on wooden planks, the same that not long before had flexed under the weight of a wheelchair rolling to where it now sat outside. Rufus regarded the scene disinterestedly, raising the mug to his lips. The liquid scalded his tongue and throat as he swallowed it, and the pain received no more acknowledgement than the leaf or the bird. No matter how long he stayed here, Healin Lodge remained too idyllic for his tastes.

The memories of his life before this place were fond ones, tinged to bitterness only by the ever-present knowledge that they would never come again. It hadn't been long--a little over a year? Yes, a year, two months, ten days, an hour, and if Rufus' watch happened to be correct, forty-seven minutes--since he last stood in the office he had expected to be his for a far longer time that it had been. He remembered the exact time his life had fallen apart. It was burned into his mind as much as the scars that remained were burned into his skin. It was almost comical, looking back on it. Him standing there, seconds separated from a blast that should have killed him, and apparently his impulse had been to look at a clock. What good would it have done, if people lived on in the Lifestream as was said, to have been able to tell the others the exact time that he had died?

What sort of place was the Lifestream, he wondered? Idyllic, like here? Flowers, trees, birds? He wanted his city.

He had been on top of the world once. Rufus ShinRa, up in the highest room in the tallest building; the man who had everything. And then it had all crumbled away, lost in the rubble of a world that didn't want him anymore. He sighed, and let another burning sip cascade over his lips and tongue. Those days seemed like they were long ago. Even the coffee had been better back then.

A slight tremor of the planks beneath him and the accompanying sound of footsteps broke him out of his reverie. He didn't bother to look up. By now, he knew the pattern of each of his Turks' footfalls. It was Rude who approached.

"Something to tell me?" he asked, still staring dully out at the trees. "Doctors want to see me?"

"No," came the simple reply. The Turk moved into Rufus' peripheral vision, and he regarded him with a brief glance before returning a blank gaze to his surroundings.

"Getting some fresh air?" he offered, still vaguely curious as to the reason for Rude's presence. The Turk gave him a look that might have been incredulous.

"Thought you could use some company."

"Ah. Yes, I can always use some good conversation." He would have laughed if he could have mustered the willingness. As it was he just took another sip of his coffee. Rude leaned forward, resting his elbows on the railing of the porch, and remained silent. Apparently, he didn't feel too much like laughing, either.

"Why do you bother?" Rufus questioned, after a long moment of silence, perfectly aware of just how ambiguous a question that was. He wasn't surprised when the only response he received was a turned head and a raised eyebrow. "Staying with me, I mean." Rude turned away again.

"It's my job."

"Hn." Another sip of coffee. It burned less now. "Because I didn't lose my money when I lost everything else," he translated. That made sense enough, he supposed.

"No." Rude turned back with a very clear frown. If he didn't know better, Rufus would have sworn the Turk looked offended. He could never precisely tell, when all he could see of the other's eyes were dark, unfeeling ellipses of glass.

"Take those damn things off." Rude froze for a second, apparently confused, then questioningly pointed to his sunglasses. Rufus nodded irritatedly. "Yes, what did you think I meant?" To his surprise, the Turk actually complied, removing the glasses from his face and stowing them safely in a pocket. He squinted for a moment, bothered by the sun, then gave Rufus a look as if to say, _better now?_

It occurred to him then that he had never once actually seen Rude's eyes. They were a muted yellow-green, not terribly unlike the sea of vegetation that surrounded the both of them presently, but less pronounced and somehow having infinitely more depth. Rufus almost thought he could get lost in them. He was only able to test that theory for about a second before the Turk looked away again, not used to making eye contact. A mouthful of coffee muffled the quiet grumble that escaped his lips as his own eyes returned to the dull scenery.

A moment passed in silence as neither managed to think of words to speak, and then there were more footsteps, Tseng's this time.

"_Now_ the doctors want to see me," Rufus thought aloud, more a declaration than a question. The footsteps paused at the doorway.

"Yes, sir." Rufus replied with a heavy sigh, and glanced briefly at Rude, whose sunglasses were already back in place. He set his mostly empty mug on the railing before wheeling himself back into the building. One of the Turks would put it away.

***

Rufus had developed an inveterate distaste for doctors, though he suspected that statement might be made about anyone suffering from an incurable disease. He had long since begun to wonder if they simply enjoyed poking and prodding him. It never seemed to bring them any closer to finding a cure. The only thing he could say for the visit was that for now he wouldn't need to bother with rewrapping his own bandages, which he would admit was nearly more of a chore than it was worth.

Now that the doctors were gone for the evening, the wheelchair, too, was discarded in a corner, its seat covered by a sheet folded with surprisingly little care. Doctors' advice be damned; he would not be a weakling. His legs still worked. Glancing around the room, he found everything in almost frustratingly perfect order. The bed was made, sheets tucked in neatly at the edges, and the floor and other surfaces were notably devoid of clutter. He wondered briefly who it was that had done the cleaning, distinctly recalling that it hadn't been him. It was all the way he liked it, of course, but there had been a time when he kept it that way by himself. The only thing out of place was the sheet slung almost carelessly over the wheelchair, his own handiwork this time, and moved to fix that. It was, if nothing else, something to do for about a minute.

Satisfied with the state of his room, he limped his way to the door, ultimately heading out to the balcony again. As little fondness as he had for the view, the outside air was at least less stuffy than that of the inside. He failed to reach his destination.

Sudden pain coursed through his body, a vicious reminder of each dark spot that tainted his skin. His eyes squeezed shut and his teeth clenched; he hissed loudly, attempting to fight off the attack. He lost, giving way to searing pain that pulsed in caustic patches and clouded his senses. What strength he had abandoned him as his legs crumpled under his own weight.

Someone caught hold of him before he hit the ground, and he didn't have the cognizance to even wonder who. His fingers gripping the fabric of a suit as they clenched uncontrollably. Warm arms wrapped around him, a tiny comfort in the midst of the torment. He wouldn't be able to say how long the attack had lasted; even a minute felt like several excruciating hours. He clung to the body in front of him desperately.

As the agony subsided, he became aware that he was whimpering softly, and forced himself to silence. One of the arms that had been holding him shifted to brush fingers lightly through his hair. Finally relaxing, he loosened his grip and blinked lethargically, his vision clearing. It took a few more seconds for him to convince his head to move from where it was buried in the other's shoulder.

"Thank you, Rude," he breathed, slowly disentangling himself from the Turk's arms. "I seem to be seeing you a lot today," he observed softly. Come to think of it, he didn't seem to be seeing anyone else for the moment.

"Where is Tseng?" he asked.

"Getting dinner."

"Elena?"

"Picking up some stuff from town."

"Reno?"

"Off for the day." That would explain why it had been so quiet, he thought.

"Just us here, then."

"Hn."

Throughout the conversation, a comforting hand remained firmly on Rufus' shoulder. He glanced at it, then back to Rude with a quiet "heh." Thinking back to the earlier conversation, he asked, "Because it's your job?" The Turk shook his head in reply.

"Because you deserve it." Rufus frowned, pushing away the arm that still touched him as he turned away, his gaze shifting to the floor.

"I'm not sure I know what _that_ means," he muttered. Rude stood where he was, his arm falling back to his side. He sighed quietly.

"You're a remarkable man, Rufus ShinRa. Maybe one of these days you'll realize it again." Rufus managed a brief, half-hearted smile. That might have been one of the longest things he had ever heard come out of Rude's mouth. He turned to the Turk again, enough to display a raised eyebrow.

"Am I?" All he really knew at this point was that he apparently couldn't cover the distance from his bedroom to the balcony without collapsing. He felt anything but remarkable. The question was met with a look he was unable to classify, the sunglasses thwarting him yet again. With a soft noise of frustration, he reached up and snatched them from their place on the other's face. Concern. It was concern that he found in Rude's eyes, and a hint of surprise at having his glasses pulled off. Rufus frowned.

"I don't want your pity." The Turk shook his head, his expression serious as he gave his boss a long look. The eyes that fixed on Rufus now were a deep grey-green, the tinges of yellow gone without the sunlight.

"Got enough of that on your own." Rufus growled quietly, tearing his gaze out of the hold of Rude's in favor of the wall. There had been a time when that hadn't been so true a statement, and no one would have dared say it to his face if it was.

"What do you expect?" he grumbled, pacing as he spoke, silently willing his body to not collapse under him again. "Stuck out here, hidden from the world, slowly succumbing to a disease nobody can cure, with no one to care one way or the other if--" He stopped in his tracks. "_Dammit_, Rude." The sunglasses had returned to their usual spot. He glared at the offending shades for a long moment before again becoming aware of a slight weight in his hand. He glanced down to find the pair of sunglasses he had taken from Rude earlier, blinking once before returning a glance to the pair that rested over Rude's eyes.

"Where did those come from?" Rude pointed to a pocket. Rufus blinked, again. "How many do you have?" The question was met with a slight shrug. Rufus sighed, turning away again. "I really have no idea why I'm talking to you." He took a step back toward his bedroom, and was halted by a firm hand on his shoulder. Stopping where he was, he waited for the Turk to say something, or do something. He was sick of offering thoughts and getting no response. What he did not expect was for that hand to disappear from its shoulder only to reappear by his ear as a pair of sunglasses settled over his eyes. "What?"

"Make you feel better?" He took a few seconds to ponder that question, and came to the conclusion that the only difference was that things were darker.

"No."

"That's because the only person you want to hide from is yourself."

"Hn." He pulled the sunglasses off, adding them to the growing collection in his hand, not doubting for a second that if he turned around the Turk would still have another pair covering his eyes. For now, he chose not to ask who Rude was hiding from, or why. The whole world, if the consistency with which he wore those glasses was any indication.

"If?" Rude prompted.

"Hmm?" Rufus still didn't bother to look at the Turk.

"What you said. _No one to care if..._"

"My death will be nothing more than a tick-mark on the list of failures of modern medicine." He didn't let Rude respond to that, but rather shoved the two pairs of glasses back toward him, briefly looking up to find that his eyes were indeed still covered. "I believe these are yours. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed." It was only early evening, but he was tired of sunglasses, tired of this conversation, and when it came down to it, just plain tired. He paused only briefly at the doorway to declare, "Don't follow me," before disappearing behind it.

He collapsed on the bed, and spent the next several minutes shifting about uncomfortably before giving up any hope of actual relaxation. He stared idly at the ceiling.

Rude took the order not to follow to heart, it seemed, and now that he was by himself in bed, he wondered why he had said it. With a last wistful glance at the door, he curled up, hugging a pillow to him. No matter what he had said, and no matter how hard he tried to convince himself otherwise, the last thing he wanted to be right then was alone.

***

The night was dark, lonely, and filled with fitful dreams. Sleep, he got eventually. Rest was more elusive. More than once, Rufus awoke with a start, straightened the sheets that had tangled around him, and again buried his head in his pillow. Once, in a brief moment of semi-consciousness, he thought he heard the sound of soft footsteps and the door clicking shut. He attributed the sensation to the remains of a dream and returned to slumber.

When next he awakened, sun streamed in from the window, a trail of light having settled over his face. His eyes squinted shut the moment he opened them, and he rolled onto his side, pondering whether he could muster the motivation to get out of bed just yet. In the process, his hand brushed the edge of his nightstand and met with an unfamiliar object. His eyes shot open. The footsteps in the night, he decided, had not been his imagination. No, those footsteps had brought him a gift. One that managed, for the first time in he didn't know how long, to bring a genuine smile to his face.

Sitting on the nightstand beside Rufus' bed was a pair of sunglasses acting as a paperweight to small slip of paper, upon which were written three simple, handwritten words.

_I WOULD CARE_.


End file.
